One is the Loneliest Number
by LillieGrey
Summary: With a perpetual storm forcing everyone to remain indoors, Regina seeks the solitude of her library, but when she returns to her chambers to find a few surprise, dimpled cheeked visitors she realizes she may not have to be as alone as she thought.


It has been raining for days.

The sky is an ever-present sheet of gray; thick, rolling clouds spilling over drops of liquid that splash against the stone walls of the castle, driving everyone inside. The windows are shuttered and the gates sealed, but the corridors still smell of musk and damp from the rain seeping in around the edges.

Tensions are running high; the constant confinement leaving tempers flaring and interactions skating on a razor's edge of irritation; not that her interactions with the current inhabitants of the castle are ever anything less than caustic on a normal day. She's holed herself away inside her library, taking comfort in the solitude and the reassuring smell of weathered parchment, ink, and dusty books. Using the excuse of researching ways to defeat her newly acquired verdant sister, she's pleasantly avoided human contact for the last three days; her only company the torches casting a flickering glow around the room, dissipating the dreary darkness outside.

The words on the page in front of her are all running together; her eyes tired and irritated from overuse in the dim light. Stifling a yawn with her hand, she whacks the book closed; perhaps it's time to call it a day and head back to her room. Rising with a groan, she stretches her sore muscles, reveling in the relief brought from the snap and crack of bones in her neck and spine that have grown stiff from sitting curled around her desk for hours. She douses the fires with a wave of her hand and then trudges through the dank castle halls.

She enters her chambers expecting to be greeted by darkness and silence, but the image she finds on the other side of her heavy doors is quite the opposite. The rooms are lit by the soft glow of torches and candlelight; a crackling fire blazes in the fireplace, cutting through the chill of the damp evening air. Her stomach growls and her mouth begins to water at the scent of rich, hearty stew and fresh bread that wafts through the air mingled with the soft scent of candle wax and firewood. She spies a wooly picnic blanket laid out in front of the hearth with several steaming bowls, a board with a mix of cheeses and fruits, and a tankard of wine placed around a smattering of floor cushions where two figures sit moving items around with their backs to her, completely oblivious of her entrance to the room.

She clears her throat, and a pair of matching dimples turn and greet her from their place on the floor. The two Locksley men both stare back at her with a mixture of shock and mischievous glee.

"What's all this?" she inquires, casting her eyes over the makeshift dinner they've set up in the middle of her private quarters before locking eyes with the older Locksley, eyebrow arched, awaiting an answer.

He has the decency to throw her a sheepish look, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. It warms something within her, twisting her stomach in knots, causing a tinge of a blush to creep into her cheeks. She sucks in a sharp breath, fighting to keep the way he affects her from showing on her face as Roland perks up, quick to answer her question.

"We made a picnic for you, majesty!" the boy says, dimples on full display as he grins at her, swelling with boyhood pride.

"And what has prompted such a wonderful surprise Sir Roland?" she asks, her face finally splitting into a soft smile she seems to reserve only for the boy, as she crouches to meet him at eye level.

"You're always eating by yourself. You don't sit with anyone or you don't come down to supper at all. No one should have to eat alone." The corners of his mouth tilt down into a thoughtful frown that has her fighting the urge to pull him into her arms and squeeze those adorable full cheeks.

"And why is that my Little Knight?" she inquires instead, hoping that he'll perk back up at the opportunity to explain.

"I don't want you to be lonely Gina," he states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, looking up at her with the soft innocence of a child. "One is the loneliest number." Those simple words have traitorous tears pooling in her eyes, the breath whooshing out of her, as a shaking hand wraps around her middle as if to protect herself from being seen so completely.

" _We_ don't want you to be lonely Regina," Robin whispers, and there he goes, using her name again, when she can't snap back, when his son is looking up at her with earnest caramel colored eyes, curls falling in his face, and an adorable downturned pout she just has to chase away with a smile.

He's caught her and he knows it, the smug bastard.

"It's still 'Your Majesty' to you, Thief" she bites back, pleased with the giggle her mocking coaxes from Roland, a light spark flaring behind her gaze as she finds Robin staring at her with those too blue eyes, piercing right through her in a way that makes her feel naked and raw. It has that warmth pooling in her stomach again, making her feel gooey and weak at the knees in a foolish way.

She blinks, shaking her head to break the spell his gaze has cast over her. Clearing her throat, she focuses on Roland, on the safety of wrapping his tiny hand in her own and the excuse it gives her to avoid the problematic feelings his father's presence calls forth. "Why don't you show me what you've brought for dinner? I'm starving!" She heaves a dramatic sigh as the little boy escorts her to the blanket, tugging her down to sit beside him. "You've come to my rescue once again my Little Knight, how could I ever repay you?"

They share the food between them amidst laughter and stories. Regina tells them of Storybrooke, and Roland listens enraptured as she describes comic books and television, electricity and running water until she insists that she's talked enough and they should tell some stories of their own. They talk of the Merry Men, of daring escapes and near misses, hilarious failures and heroic triumphs until Roland decides he wants to make up a new story, all on his own.

She hangs on every word that rattles from his eager child imagination, asking questions when appropriate and smiling through his responses. He comes to a dramatic moment in his tale, hands spun wide to his sides and he launches himself towards her in his excitement. Catching him in her arms and pulling him halfway to her lap, she attacks him with tickling fingers and feathery kisses pressed across his face, revelling in the way he squeals in laughter and squirms against her. She looks up, a laugh of her own spilling from her lips, and she catches Robin watching the two of them; the weight of his gaze, the _feeling_ behind it, causes the mirth to catch in her throat, stealing her breath with a shuddering gasp.

Roland's sudden yawn and drooping eyes break the moment and she pulls him into her lap, tucking his head against her chest. "I think it's past someone's bedtime," she coos, brushing the hair back from his face with tender fingers.

"But I'm not sleepy," he protests around another yawn, burrowing into her embrace. "I want to stay here with you. Can I Papa?" he slurs, fighting to keep his eyes open.

"Now son, we've intruded enough on the Queen for one evening, you can see her again in the morning—"

"It's alright, really," she interrupts, as Roland's eyes finally slip closed and his breathing deepens in sleep. "Besides, he'll go down easier if we just tuck him into my bed. If you have to carry him all the way across the castle to your rooms it will probably take him longer to get to sleep again."

"If you're sure?" he asks, searching her face.

"I'm positive," she answers, standing with Roland still cradled in her arms. "He'll be fine here for the evening, and I'll bring him down to you at breakfast in the morning." She pads over to her bed, pulling the covers aside with one hand before gently laying Roland down and tucking him in. She can feel Robin watching her as she leans over and brushes a lingering kiss to his forehead, pausing to breathe in the scent of his hair with a whispered, "Sleep well my Little Knight," before standing and crossing back to where his father is still reclined by the fire.

"We still have some wine left, M'lady, and it looks like the rain has finally stopped." He gestures to the balcony across her chambers where a soft shaft of moonlight illuminates the floor. "Shall we take advantage of the momentarily dry conditions and finish our drinks outside?"

She wants to refuse. She wants to tell him to take his wine and his dimples and leave her alone, but something about him draws her in, has her smiling and saying, "Yes," before her brain can catch up and convince her what a poor idea it would be to have a drink, alone, in the moonlight, with Robin Hood.

His smile is immediate and full, those damned dimples winking at her from his cheeks as he fills their goblets with the last of the wine. She takes the cup he hands her as he grabs his own and stands, his arm sweeping to the side in a slight bow, indicating for her to lead the way. Her lips quirk into a slight smile as he follows her out onto the balcony, the warmth of his hand finding the small of her back as they walk, sending a slight shiver up her spine.

They stand in stillness for a moment, just staring at the beautiful expanse of clear sky, the first glimpse they've seen of the moon or stars in days, until she breaks the silence.

"What do you want from me, Robin?" she whispers, turning to look at him, brow furrowed with confusion, eyes swimming with emotion.

"Only what you're willing to give," he replies "I know what it's like to be swallowed by grief, to think no one understands your pain, to lock yourself away and wallow in it because you feel it's the only way to hold on to what you've lost. I know what it's like to feel that being happy is disrespectful to the person no longer there, the person who used to bring a smile or laugh, the one who once warmed your heart until your whole body felt like it was glowing and bright. I've been there, where you are now, so I won't ask anything of you. I won't ask for more than you can willingly give, but I'm here, in whatever way you wish me to be."

"And what if I wish for you to leave me in peace?" she fires back, turning to face him, suddenly aware of just how close he is.

"If that were true Regina, I don't think we would be standing here right now," he says, voice low and thick as he takes the wine from her hand and places it on the railing along with his own. He's closer now, she can feel the warmth radiating off of his body, but he still hasn't touched her; he's letting her decide where this will go.

"You're right. We wouldn't be," she murmurs, stepping into him, drawing her hands up until her palms rest against his chest, releasing a soft sigh as he closes the final inch between them, drawing her deeper into his embrace.

"Regina, I would very much like to kiss you right now," he husks, eyes flickering to stare at her mouth as her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

"I'm not stopping you." She sighs as he seals the gap, lips pressing softly to her own. She sinks into him, eyes fluttering closed, allowing herself to soak in the moment.

As Robin's hand tangles in her hair, his arm circling her waist, pulling her solidly against his chest and deepening the kiss, she thinks perhaps she doesn't have to be what she thought. Yes, one is the loneliest number, but maybe, at least in this single moment, fingers curled around strong biceps, slipping into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and surrounded by the smell of pine, wood smoke, and rich oiled leather, lips tasting and teasing, breath mingled together, it doesn't have to be the only number that defines her. At least for right now, she's not alone.


End file.
